


i still feel you (all around)

by thorbiased



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Grief, Pre-Thor (2011), Storytelling, Thor Needs a Hug, drunken adventures, loki is a little shit, post-thor:ragnarok
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:14:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28322208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thorbiased/pseuds/thorbiased
Summary: “The tattoo was a drunken mistake, you know?”“Sounds like quite the story, your majesty,” she says. Her lips quirk. “If I buy you a round, will you tell me?”Thor reaches behind her head and grabs a bottle of some translucent green liquid that could likely strip his tattoo right off his skin by the smell of it. “Of course. We were drunk, of course…”
Relationships: Fandral & Hogun & Sif & Thor & Volstagg, Loki & Fandral, Loki & Hogun, Loki & Sif, Loki & Volstagg, Thor & Brunnhilde | Valkyrie, Thor & Loki, Thor/Brunnhilde | Valkyrie
Comments: 5
Kudos: 16





	i still feel you (all around)

**Author's Note:**

> merry christmas everybody ! i hope you’ve had a great day regardless of whether or not you celebrate! this fic is my christmas present for my bestie erykah (@/azgardians on twitter) who asked for a story about thor and the warriors three getting tattoos. i hope you like it and i hope it makes you cry <3 love you sm

Brunnhilde’s touch is more gentle than Thor would have thought she was capable of. Her cool fingers brush the soft skin on the inside of his wrist, sending goosebumps up to his shoulder. He bites his lip as she cocks her head. 

“What’s this?” she asks, tapping the dark tattoo etched into his skin. 

Tears burn Thor’s eyes as memories wash over him. He turns to face the big window of the Statesman that bathes them and the bar in cool blue light. “They’re initials. Mine and Loki’s. Then Sif, Volstagg, Hogun, and Fandral.”

Brunnhilde sighs and leans back on her elbows, her back to the bar. Neon green and pink make her hair glow. Her head lolls to the side and there is sympathy in her eyes when she looks at him. “Hela took them, too, I’m guessing?” 

Thor clears his throat. “Aye,” he says, even though his voice is barely above a whisper. A tear rolls down his cheek before he can stop it. He doesn’t bother to wipe it away, instead, he surprises himself with a soft laugh. “The tattoo was a drunken mistake, you know?”

“Sounds like quite the story, your majesty,” she says. Her lips quirk. “If I buy you a round, will you tell me?”

Thor reaches behind her head and grabs a bottle of some translucent green liquid that could likely strip his tattoo right off his skin by the smell of it. “Of course. We were drunk, of course…”

They were drunk, of course, when the idea was brought up—that much was certain. Volstagg swore it was his idea to get matching tattoos. This was the only fact that the others could confirm to be false. Most likely it was Thor’s idea, given his affinity for the battle tattoos worn by Vanaheim soldiers. Although Hogun’s ancestry made him a strong contender for the credit for that same reason. 

“Wait wait,” Brunnhilde says, cutting his story short with a wave of her hand. “You liked the tattoos the old guards wore?” 

Thor hums. “Oh, yes,” he says, a little dreamily. “Shall I tell you that story before we continue?”

Brunnhilde bobs her head so hard her curls go flying. “Yes, please.”

Thor sighs and begins that story, 

Thor eyed the soldiers passing the window of his and Loki’s playroom on their way to the training grounds with barely contained longing. The temperatures had just turned hot enough to warrant a change in wardrobe, so their winter uniforms had been swapped for sleeveless ones, putting their toned muscles on full display. More importantly to Thor, it also exposed their tattoos. Sprawling black ink wrapped around their biceps and shoulders. Some had runes etched into their skin, reading the names of wives or protection charms. Others were more decorative, like the white stars that dotted Hogun’s father’s back. 

With a huff, Thor turned around and plopped back onto the cushions of the couch. Even at such a young age, he was ambitious. His father had told him plenty of stories about the glories of battle, and he was itching to get a taste of it for himself. It seemed to him that the soldier’s tattoos would be an extension of that glory. 

“Loki?” 

His brother looked up from the thin book he held in his still-chubby hands. “Hm?” 

“When we’re big, we should get tattoos like the soldiers out there,” Thor said, sliding off the couch. He side-stepped the toys scattered on the floor and joined Loki on the couch opposite the one he’d been on originally. He rolled up his sleeve and patted his bicep. “I’ll get an eagle right here, with his wings spread big and wide.” 

Loki smiled and shut his book. “I want one, too,” he announced. At this age, he would have followed Thor anywhere and usually did. “I’ll get a snake wrapped around my hand.” 

Thor’s eyes widened. “Brother, that is a brilliant idea,” he breathed. “Maybe I should get lightning across my back, or wrapped around my arms, too.” 

“Do you think mother will let us?” Loki asked, tilting his head. 

Thor frowned and sank deeper into the couch. His dreams were squashed. “Hm. Perhaps we’ll have to wait.” 

“Perhaps so.” 

Brunnhilde settles back in her seat with a satisfied smirk on her lips. “Yeah that proves me right.”

Thor lifts a brow. “What were you right about?”

“You being a cute ass kid,” she says, laughing. “Even though that wasn’t much of a story.”

“You asked for it!” Thor cries, eyes blown wide and mouth agape. Her folded his arms over his chest. “Can I continue with the real story now?” 

Brunnhilde waves her hand in a little circle. “Go ahead.”

“Where was I?” 

“You were drunk.”

“Oh, yes.”

Either way, they found themselves piled in a tattoo parlor in the wee hours of the morning on that fateful night. There was a more reputable tattoo parlor in the upper city, but it was closed, for one. For two, they would likely tell Odin that his two sons were wasted drunk and getting impromptu tattoos, and that was the last thing anyone wanted. 

It was Fandral that first stumbled into the door of the parlor. He plastered on a big grin and winked at the receptionist. “Hello, m’lady,” he slurred, “I need a round of tattoos.” 

The others poured inside like some kind of molten mass of piss-drunk Asgardians. Even Loki, who was usually the voice of reason after Hogun was too far gone to remember he was supposed to be the voice of reason, had crossed the threshold of sound decision making. 

“Uh,” the receptionist, a middle aged Aesir with waist-length brown hair and a very I’m-too-old-for-this look on her face, said, “Just take a seat on that bench there.”

“Thank you kindly,” Fandral managed before collapsing into the bench with a loud belch. 

Thor chuckled and pushed his way to the front of the group. He tossed a leather pouch heavy with coins onto the table in front of the reception. “This should cover it, aye? Plus extra, if you tell no one we were here.”

Sif dug her elbow into his ribs. “You’re so—“ She hiccuped. “You’re so drunk, Thor. Get over here.”

Thor let her drag him over to the bench, and they fell in beside Fandral, who was dozing with his head on his own shoulder. Volstagg, Hogun, and Loki somehow ended up sitting on the floor, but thanks to the outrageous amount of money Thor had slipped the woman at the front desk, no one was going to complain. 

“Do we have a design in mind?” Loki asked, looking up from Volstagg’s shoulder with glassy eyes. 

Thor’s shoulders fell slightly. Sif made a disgruntled noise at the movement of her make-shift pillow, but settled back in soon enough. “No, I don’t,” he said, like he’d just realized this fact. Of course, he had just realized it. 

“We should get something simple,” Hogun said. The mead made his voice sound two octaves higher, which was either unsettling or adorable and no one could decide which. “Something easy to hide from Odin.”

Fandral erupted into a fit of giggles. “But not so easily hidden from Heimdall,” he managed to get out past the hiccups and laughter. Thor gave him a swift punch on the arm, but it only made him laugh harder. 

“We should get our names,” Sif offered. She lifted her hand up and slapped her forearm. “Right here.”

“What about our initials?” Loki offered, “It’s shorter, at least.” 

Volstagg clapped Loki on the back so hard that he fell forward and had to catch himself on the dirt floor of the parlor. “Wonderful idea!”

“And we should get them in runes,” Hogun said. He’d rolled up his sleeve now, and he studied his bare skin like the tattoo just might appear if he stared hard enough. 

“Aye, I agree. It’s settled,” Thor said. He leaned his head back against the wall. “Now, where is that woman?” 

“I never left, your highness,” the woman said, waving from her spot behind the counter. 

Thor grinned. “Ah, good. When can we start?” 

“As soon as...oh, there he is.”

Six heads turned in unison to see a burly man enter the lobby. Ink covered every visible inch of his skin, and with his towering height, there was a lot of skin to be covered. He grinned and his teeth were brilliant white, save for one golden incisor that glistened in the candle light. 

“You lot would like a round of tattoos, eh?” he asked, his full round voice bellowing in the empty parlor. He chuckled. “Well, I’d be happy to oblige. The name is Ivar, at your service.” 

“I’ll go first!” Fandral proclaimed, hopping to his feet. He stumbled a bit, but Sif and Thor each grabbed his sides to keep him steady. “Thank you, my friends.”

“You’re all welcome to come back and join him,” Ivar said as Fandral made his way over to his side. He smiled. “He looks like a squealer.” 

Fandral scoffed. “I am not.” 

Brunnhilde tilts her head, interrupting once again. “Was he?”

“Will you just listen to the story?” Thor asks, even though he’s laughing. 

“Sorry, keep going.”

Thor stood, laughing the whole way up. “We should go to keep him company,” he said, pulling Sif to her feet. Volstagg and the rest soon followed, even if they took a rather long time getting there. “For Fandral!”

“For Fandral!” the others chorused, slamming fists against their chests in salute. 

Fandral wiped a tear from his eye. “I appreciate this, though I am not afraid of a little needle and ink.”

Ivar chuckled and slapped him on the back. “I’ve seen many an Asgardian utter those words, and most live to regret them.” 

Fandral swallowed thickly and followed Ivar back with significantly dampened enthusiasm. 

The back was set up with a mix of minimalism and a tavern aesthetic. The minimalism, of course, came from the fact that there was only one chair and set of needles. Loki was the only one who wondered, however briefly, whether this was the safest option. 

Fandral settled into the chair and slipped his tunic over his head. He pointed to a spot near the top of his ribs, just below his left peck. “This is where I’d like it.” 

“Wait!” Thor called, thrusting his hands forward. 

“I wasn’t even close to beginning, your majesty,” Ivar muttered. He continued to work on preparing the needles, unbothered by the drunken conversation that occurred around him. 

Thor rested his weight on his heels and crossed his arms. “What order shall we put our initials?”

“Does it matter that much?” Sif asked, pressing her lips together in an annoyed line. “Just do it alphabetically.” 

Thor nodded once. “Good idea, Sif. I just wanted to establish...a lineup.”

Loki rolled his eyes. “You wanted to be first.” 

“Not true.”

“It is true.” 

“It is not!”

Brunnhilde hums. “It was true, wasn’t it?” she asks, kicking Thor’s shin. 

Thor shrugs. “I was too drunk to remember.”

“You wanted to be first.”

Thor rolls his eyes. “I’m going to keep going now.”

“Boys,” Sif chided, pushing Thor’s shoulder back just as Hogun pulled Loki away by the arm. “Enough.” 

Thor humph-ed like a little kid, and Loki just rolled his eyes, but Ivar chuckled at them both. “It’s nice to see our future rulers are just like the rest of us,” he joked. He held up a slender bronze needle and flicked it at the top, sending black ink flying. “Are you ready, Fandral?”

Fandral nodded, though the pallor of his cheeks would indicate otherwise. 

“I would like it if the rest of you stayed quiet,” Ivar said as he straddled a stool and scooted close to Fandral’s exposed skin. “I need to concentrate.”

“Of course,” Loki said with a slight bow of his head. As soon as Ivar wasn’t looking, Thor thumped Loki on the shoulder. With a flick of his wrist and a brief flash of green, Loki rendered Thor mute. 

Thor folded his arms over his chest and poked out his bottom lip. Volstagg chuckled at the sight of him, but the long-suffering Sif just rolled her eyes. 

Their antics were interrupted by a yelp from Fandral, as Ivan had begun to etch the design onto his skin. As it was simple enough, just six Runic symbols in a line across his rib cage, he didn’t need a stencil. The minutes passed like hours to Fandral, who was sweat-drenched and panting by the end of Volstagg’s ᚡ. 

“Done,” Ivar said cheerfully, fully and blessedly aware of the tears in Fandral’s eyes. 

Fandral nodded and blew out a long breath. “Oh? I didn’t feel a thing.”

“You shouldn’t lie,” Hogun said, but the smile on his lips lessened the power of his scolding. He pulled Fandral from his chair and took his place. To the surprise of no one, he made it through his tattoo without breaking a sweat. 

Volstagg was next. Thirteen muttered curses and two clenched fists later, his chest was donned with the initials of his shield brothers and sister.

Then there was Sif. She made it through without shedding a tear, but if her eyes had welled up during the process, no one had the guts to tease her about it. 

After her, Loki took his seat in the chair. Trickster god as he was, he charmed his arm with unfeeling and made it through the whole process without an ounce of pain. This, of course, prompted an outcry of, “You couldn’t have done that earlier?”, which he responded to with a shrug. 

Thor was last, and he was unfortunately fully sober for his. Though he didn’t cry out during the experience, his powers were none too happy about the pain. Thunder roared and rain fell outside and beyond his control. Ivar even sustained a small lightning-inflicted burn across his arm, but he chuckled once the smoke cleared.

“He told me I’d given him his first “natural” tattoo,” Thor laughs before taking another swig of alcohol. He shakes his head. “It was an ugly burn, too, but as you said...quite the story.” 

Brunnhilde giggles, a sure sign she was well past sobriety. “It was worth the price of the bottle for sure.” 

Thor inhales and settles back on his barstool. “I’m glad to hear that,” he sighs, “I know I called it a drunken mistake, but I’m glad I have it now…”

Brunnhilde nods before his words turn to tears. She holds out her own arm and reveals the Valkyrie symbol on her skin. “There was one night on Sakaar that I considered chopping my arm off to get rid of this. It’s a good reminder, though. Of better times.”

Thor runs his fingers down the now soft skin where his tattoo is. “It doesn’t feel real yet. I’m afraid once it does I’ll resent it, too.”

“You will,” Brunnhilde says. Thor’s eyes widen. “It’s natural, but the grief will pass. I promise. Besides, it’s a pretty tattoo.”

Thor nods his head towards hers. “Yours is pretty, too.”

“Oh, you big flirt,” Brunnhilde groans. She hops off her stool and turns back to him with a smile. “I’m rather drunk, Your Majesty.”

“I can see that,” Thor replies.

“Then you’d better walk me back to my room,” she says, offering her hand. 

Her tattoo faces up, and that's where Thor’s eyes lay when he takes her hand and laces his fingers with hers. A smile settles on Thor’s lips. “Thank you.”

Her brows knit. “For what?” 

“For listening,” he says with a shrug. Their hands swing idly between them. “There’s only three people still alive that knew them. I...I’m glad to pass on our stories, I guess.”

Brunnhilde is quiet for a moment. Her eyes are glued to the floor. “Next time you buy me a round and I’ll tell you stories of my sisters, okay? To pass on their memory.” 

Thor has tears in eyes when he nods. “I’d like that.”

“I bet you would, fanboy,” she teases. Her hip bumps into his a little too hard and he wanders off course. 

When she pulls him back, she pulls him closer, and he wraps his arm around her shoulders. It makes walking back to her room a bit more difficult, but doesn’t hinder their ability to collapse into her bed together. The next morning Thor wakes with her tattooed arm wrapped around his chest, and his hand tangled in her hair. 


End file.
